* * * * * * * *
[Another couple of years went by. I was now twelve years old. I had tried wearing the tights less often. It would be once every couple of weeks, maybe even longer. I did get busy with other things. There was also my rising interest in girls. I really did like them and had a crush on a couple in my school. But... I was not a confident boy. I was timid. I was also dealing with bullies. Oh yeah, the bullies. How could I completely forget to write about them earlier? But then, this is a tights diary. Perhaps it might be worth mentioning that it wasn't just the wearing of tights that weakened my self esteem, but also the atrocious horrible nature of boys who like to bully. I was a sensitive boy and it was very hard for me to hide my feelings. The perfect target. Funny enough... good looking kid, reasonably strong physique, and academically smart. I should have been a popular kid, top player on a school team, desired by girls. Well, I was desired, as I'd later find out... oh how many times I missed realizing that those compliments were given in a friendly off-hand way because girls hate being obvious. But, they weren't obvious enough for me. I didn't have the awareness, the understanding of the subtle cues that signaled "she likes you." And so... when I was not responsive enough for a few girls, they started thinking I might be gay. Well, I wasn't very close with any girl in particular, only engaging in just friendly chit-chat with the ones I knew; no broadcast of signals like "I'm attracted to you." Yet, I was... I was just unsure about how to show it. So, in time, there would be a couple of more hardened girls that would decide to make me a target as well. You're not interested in me? Then you're a faggot.
All of this social pressure began to take its toll on me. I attributed it partly to the tights. That wearing them weakened me, feminized me, made me less appealing. So, I attempted to practice abstinence.]
* * * * * * * *
Well, it was a particularly crappy day. A girl at school that I liked, who also frequently wears tights (are you surprised?), was actually talking with me. Her name is Susan. Brunette with a warm and friendly face, one that had great appeal to me. Blondes were so popular because of Farrah Fawcett, so a few girls dyed their hair blonde to leverage the interest. I'm glad Susan didn't... which meant she was a little less attractive to some other guys. I would have a better chance. She and I became friendly over the course of a month. And then... it all changed.
Carl. Carl Espinoza. The "Spanish prince." Dark chestnut hair and bold dark brown eyes. He caught Susan's attention and she couldn't resist his friendly and confident air. Carl and I had been friendly enough, but I certainly didn't anticipate him taking an interest in Susan. But he did. And Susan gave him her full attention.
I tried not to think about it for the rest of the day, but when I got home, the misery of lost attention from Susan ate away at me. I tried talking to Mom, but all she could say was "Well, why don't you keep talking to her? Interest between boys and girls comes and goes. Just don't worry about it." But how could I stop worrying? "Nyle, c'mon. Get over it. Now I have to get dinner on." Well, that sure felt good. I had no outlet for my feelings and Mom wasn't helping. Dad never had any useful advice when it comes to social things as it is. And I certainly couldn't talk to my stepfather. I couldn't pacify myself, unless...
The tights. The dreaded masculine draining tights would comfort me. I couldn't stand it, but I had to... I needed it. So, with stealth I made my way into my sister's room at the right time, got the purple tights, and went to my room closing the door behind me. In a few moments, I was wrapped in purple nylon once more. They still fit, but showed a little less opaque than before because I was a little taller.
As if to be consoled for my frustrations of the day, I felt more excitement than before with wearing the tights. I barely had to touch myself to incite intense throbbing and tingling. As the spongy elasticity of tingle swelled around my groin, it traveled up and down my legs and behind. With almost hypnotic response, I massaged myself into orgasm. It was a heady, intense one. And this time... there was wetness. Not much, but it was there.
[My puberty had graduated to the next level. It wasn't full ejaculate, but just the liquid that accompanies it. My testes were gearing up for full sperm production, beckoned by my fetish bond with tights. I hadn't been in any sex education class, nor a talk with my parents, but I instinctively knew what this meant biologically. But what did it mean psychologically? It didn't dawn on me that moment that this was an exclusive reaction for me with the tights, yet, it would become my fear that delayed my joining with women until later than average.]
The euphoric feelings from orgasm began to wear off, leaving me to look at myself in tights and loathe it. I quickly took them off, but managed not to damage them. DANSKIN sure knew how to make tough tights. Because I'd not taken much time in my "activity", the window of time to get the tights back in their place was ample. After leisurely putting them back, I returned to my room, laid down with my face in my pillow... and began to cry.
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